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The stars at Glyndebourne are the conductors -- Bernard Haitink led Figaro -- and the directors. Sir Peter Hall has done some of his best stagings here, as have Trevor Nunn and Jonathan Miller. But the key to Glyndebourne's success is the dozen or so coaches who prepare each opera meticulously. Beneficiaries liken their teaching to having a superb master class every day. Christie notes that "coaches have an awkward job mediating between the conductor and the singer. They need a feeling for what's best for the composer." Their ranks tend to be drawn from people on their way to becoming conductors or from would-be singers who just didn't have a good enough voice. Martin Isepp, a revered figure who has spent 36 years preparing the divas of tomorrow, says he "was a little of both." He explains the coach's role this way: "Singers' instruments -- their talent -- lie within the body, and that makes them vulnerable. They need a second pair of ears that they trust."
Glyndebourne houses many communities -- the hungry opera fans, the corporate swells with their rare-roast-beef complexions, the county gentry with their picnic hampers. There is also a large, thriving musical community in the folds of the Sussex hills. Singers who come as students stay on to buy houses. Performers who have gone on to bigger things return because of the good friendships and relaxed pace.
Todorovitch, who is based in Paris and not an old festival hand, found herself crying when the orchestra struck up God Save the Queen on opening night. "I thought that, after 60 years, they had the courage to try and improve on success. I thought the music doesn't change -- Mozart is always the same -- but here are all these young singers who are making him fresh again." Of all opera houses in the world, perhaps only Glyndebourne, with its setting and its devotion to singing rather than to stars, can evoke such tears.